Page 18 of A Deal with the Rebellious Marquess
‘How was your meeting with Cowden?’
‘Cowden has offered support for our legislation when it’s ready. That’s good news.’ But her original excitement over that was diminished by practicalities. Mainly, she wasn’t sure how she felt about him being here as if he could come and go at will when she had no way to find him on her own. ‘How did you know that’s where I was?’
‘Your clerk told me. He let me in.’ Umberton looked well rested for one who’d danced the night away. ‘It’s good news about Cowden. He’ll be a formidable ally.’ He waved his tumbler to indicate the room at large. ‘I hope you don’t mind me waiting in here?’ he enquired with such sincerity she nearly forgave him for the inconvenience of his lack of address.
‘I don’t mind too much, but I do mind the inability to reach you. I realised this afternoon that I couldn’t even send you a note to tell you about Cowden.’ She slid him a meaningful look. ‘I do not think I likeyouhaving all the power to guide when and how often we interact.’
She went to her desk, her point made, and gathered together all the loose sheets she’d left out, wondering if he’d looked at them and if it mattered. What would he have seen? Would it have meant anything to him? She hated the suspicion that had taken root since her meeting with Cowden. She looked across the room at him. He wore a blue jacket and buff trousers today, with a striped-blue waistcoat beneath, his jaw clean shaven, eyes clear, wavy hair in its usual state of tousled decadence. He looked handsome and harmless.
No, not harmless. He would never be harmless. Inviting was the word she was looking for. Those eyes, that smile, invited a woman to reveal her secrets, to lay those secrets and perhaps her head on those broad shoulders. He was a safe place for a woman to land. She’d taken advantage of that last night. She hoped she hadn’t been wrong. Well, the only way she’d know was if she voiced her concerns. She’d never shied away from difficult conversations. She wasn’t going to start now.
‘I want to talk to you.’ She sat behind her desk, letting the big piece of furniture be her source of power and protection. She needed distance for this conversation. She could not have it sitting side by side on the sofa where’d they kissed yesterday, where she’d be reminded of his touch, of the clean scent of him, of all the things that had led her to seduce him last night. She would not mince words with herself. Shehadseduced him.
‘Is this about last night? If so—’ he said, but she interrupted.
‘No, it’s not about last night. It’s about the enquiry on the dam.’ She drew a breath and counted to three. She wanted to deliver this next sentence with even tones, with no hint of anger. ‘I want the truth from you.’ She fixed him with a hard stare and watched him stiffen in alertness.
‘Of course, always.’ But he was wary.
‘Have you deliberately refocused my attention away from it by pushing the legislative end of things and by...’ it was hard to say the last bit ‘...by conflating business with pleasure?’
His eyes went wide. ‘You mean by seducing you?’ He gave loud chuckle. ‘I believe you were seducing me last night. And our kiss yesterday afternoon seemed fairly mutual to me. So, I think you’ll have some difficulty selling that argument.’
‘I think you are having difficulty answering the question,’ Fleur said firmly. She would not let him distract her with talk of romance and who had seduced whom.
‘Why are you asking? Are you having trouble coming to grips with last night? Perhaps you’re looking for a scapegoat and would like to blame me?’ He rose from the sofa, pacing his corner of the room. ‘What is this about, Fleur?’ His use of her given name threw her for a moment. ‘I would think after last night we could at least call each other by our given names,’ he said, reading her hesitation, ‘My name is Jasper, by the way.’
Like the stone, she thought. The name suited him. Jasper, the stone of protection, of strength. She tried not to think about other things his comment pointed out, like the fact that she’d engaged with him so intimately without knowing his name, only his title. After her protest to Cowden this morning, there was some irony in that.
‘Did you use our attraction to manipulate my agenda? You made no secret at Verrey’s as to how much you disliked the idea of re-opening the investigation.’ The idea that he had prevaricated in the past and was prevaricating now seemed to affirm her alarm was not unwarranted.
‘Do you think I am that sort of man?’ he shot back. ‘This conversation does not paint me in a favourable light. But I’d be very careful about what I was asking if I were you, Fleur. If you think to pillory me for using sex as a tool, you’d best look in the mirror first.’
‘What exactly are you suggesting?’ She’d not wanted to talk about last night, but somehow the conversation had gone that direction anyway.
‘If anyone was using anyone for sex, it wasyouusingme.’
She met his gaze evenly. Was that a reprimand she heard in his voice? ‘You were not unaware. I told you exactly what I wanted.’ She’d wanted him and an escape from the loneliness that had driven her from the ballroom. He’d managed to give her both. ‘It seemed to me that you enjoyed it last night. So, I am mystified as to the source of your irritation today.’
He broke from his pacing and approached the desk, leaning over it, palms flat on its polished surface. His eyes glittered with dangerous warning. She shouldnotfind that arousing. But she did. Or maybe it was the fight she found arousing. She hadn’t had a good fight for a long time. Not since... No. She put a full stop to her thoughts. ‘You talk about the mutuality of our “activity” last night, but you were not there with me in the end. That’s not fair.’
Oh. So that’s what this was about. She was surprised he had even noticed. She doubted many men would care enough at that point, too lost in reaching for their own release to note their partner’s. ‘I told you I wanted obliteration. It’s not a state of togetherness. You gave me exactly what I asked for.’ But he’d wanted something else, been searching for something else and he’d not found it. It was something of a revelation.
‘You were lonely, too,’ she said softly, the tension between them gentling with the realisation. But they’d used different means to assuage that loneliness. She’d sought obliteration and he’d sought togetherness. Both of them temporary variations for the real thing.
He fingered the heavy glass paperweight on the desk. ‘A lord is always lonely, especially when he’s expected to marry. Perhaps that is when he’s at his loneliest, knowing that everyone is circling, waiting for him to commit, to give in and choose someone.’
Something in his voice touched her and she reached for his hand out of an innate need to offer comfort. ‘You make it sound like surrender, capitulation. A defeat.’ Those were not characteristics she’d come to associate with this man.
His gaze held hers, sharp and all-seeing but his voice was soft in its reflectiveness. ‘My father once took me to Scotland for hunting. We tracked a herd of elk for miles. There was an older stag with them and our hounds culled him from the herd, separated him from the others until he was alone. The first shot missed and, by missed, I mean it wasn’t fatal. It merely slowed him down. We followed him until our hounds surrounded him. He was on his knees in a clearing when we took him.’
He sighed and gave a shake of his head. ‘I didn’t like it. I suppose it’s not manly to admit such a thing. My father assured me it was all part of the circle of life.’
‘You were close to your father?’ She ventured the personal question. ‘Whenever you talk of him or your mother, it sounds as if your family was close.’ Was that quite the right word? ‘I mean, “is” close. Your mother is still alive.’
‘My father was a good man. He taught me about honour and what it means to be a good man. I try to live up to his standards. I loved him and I miss him every day.’ He smiled and something warm fluttered in her stomach. ‘I love my mother, too, despite her list.’ He gave a wry laugh. ‘But I think of that story every time my mother drags the list out.’
He chuckled, but it wasn’t an entirely happy sound. ‘I’m like that bull elk. Each year, all the matchmaking mamas separate those of us who should marry from the herd and do their best to bring us to our knees.’ There was another sigh. ‘It is an illusion that a man goes courting, that he somehow is in pursuit. I think it’s the mamas who are in pursuit. We poor bachelors are all stags on the run.’
